I'm Not Afraid...

Oh Ryan Ross

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 08:45:04 GMT

So, clearly, the man with the "lyrical genius" still doesn't know shit about words.

I just…. I don’t even *know*.

It’s like every day I wake up with, “so what new shit has Ryan come up with to twist the knife a little deeper, to push me away a little more.”

I want to get over this panic thing. I want to not give a damn, but he’s making it ridiculously hard. I know I don’t know them. But my heart goes out so much for Spencer and Brendon.

[[Edit: So my journal sort of became an open letter to Ryan Ross. Read at your own risk.]]

Everything that comes out of your mouth just digs you further and further into the hole you’ve dug for yourself. You’re not being friendly, or saving face, you’re just a goddamn douche.

Oh, wait, I’m just another ~fan being unfairly mean to you, aren’t I? Shame you’ve been villianized for… oh wait, what was it? Being a jackass? Oh, that’s right, you are.

It’s not because the band broke up we went “Oh hey, fuck you Ryan Ross.” It was the press release you wrote. The self-involved twitters. The what you’re really doing when you’re not working on Panic. It was your ex-girlfriend shedding light on how far gone you really are. It’s your (former?) best friend snapping zingers at you via twitter.

The evidence is stacked against you, sitting there and whining about us treating you unfairly? You’re losing points you can’t afford to lose.

Brendon’s tried so fucking hard to take the high road on this and I almost wish he’d just stop and expose you for what you are.

The Pete thing. Jesus fucking Christ, Ryan Ross. Do you want us to relink you to pictures of yourself in fob/ mcr shirts and remind you that the only reason you are where you are today is Pete? How fucking dare you sit there and muse about returning his call and talk about him signing you. Like fucking hell. The world doesn’t work like that. I sincerely hope he has enough backbone to say no to you.

You may have been his proudest achievement - but you burned that bridge. To scoff about him having picked a side? He’s LEGaLLY bound to the fate of Panic! Of COURSE he’s going to pick them over… well, nobody really knows what the fuck you’re doing.

Honestly. I have no right to be so disappointed in someone I don’t know, but fucking hell. Every time you open your mouth I get pushed more and more over to the Brencer side. It’s impossible to not pick sides when you keep pulling this shit.

I mean, in your own words, you and Jon have been writing since rock band? Maybe Honda? And then when you took time off to record and Spencer and Brendon put in their two cents, you both basically said, ‘um no, we’re doing this. Either you’re with us or against us.”

Yeah, no shit you’re the bad guys. It’s hard to come across as mutual when there’s no willingness to compromise.

Ugh. I just. Every time I fucking read it, I get all upset again. You met for lunch? With Spencer? You really needed some kind of neutral ground, sans Brendon and Jon to break the band? “Those guys”…. I can’t believe you honestly said, ‘those guys’, then admitted to not even being interested in what they’re doing.

I just.

Kfj;adjf;jf;lkjflkjd;lfjaf

There’s no way you’re still friends after that. Remain friendly for the children’s eyes? Yes. But shit, son.

I don’t even fucking know dude.

I sincerely wish you hadn’t done this interview.

Here’s hoping Brendon and Spencer reply in the morning..

The Importance of Words

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 09:49:50 GMT

Panic at the disco is no more.

Panic! at the disco, however, is back and I am undeniably super excited for it. I love everything about Brendon, on stage and off [flaws make him human, however morally unsettling they are]. Spencer as well. But off stage? Ryan's always caught my fancy. He reminds me of myself. I want to figure out why he does what he does, what might be running through his head, how he'd react to different circumstances. I've always always been a Ryan fangirl when I draw my attention off Brendon. 98% of the time, when I write Panic, I write Ryan. I've studied him, tried so hard to climb into his head to get him right... and i just, I can't understand this.

Blink and Fob are the reasons panic formed in the first place. For Ryan to bow out right before his wet dream tour? I just, I don't understand. This is Ryan's band, this is Ryan's best friend since he was 5. Everything he's been doing lately has been warranting a 'who the fuck are you, Ryan Ross?'

Which ok, point, he is his own person and I know nothing about him. Not really. It felt like I did though.

But after a very very poorly worded press release, he and jon left an entire fandom reeling and hurting, when seriously, would it have killed them to write something that had an ounce of compassion in it? Brendon and Spencer did it just fine and I get it.

Panic! has to keep their fanbase, they can't lose fans or they lose money, but everything they've said and posted today has felt 1000x more sincere than we've heard from Ryan&Jon. I get that they want to cut themselves off from patd fame, but you know what, you can't and if you end up being even remotely successful at this, it's going to be because of fans that refuse to let you go. I'm not sure I'm going to be one of them.

I'm still just stunned. This feels like an awful fucking joke.

However, I'm hurt. Which is stupid because i fucking hated this band for years. But then i grew up. and i got sucked in so very far. I write it, i read it, i check ljs daily... i... fuck. When did i become a super panic fan?

I lash out when I get hurt. I want to hurt back.
So yeah for awhile I'm going to be mad at Ryan and Jon.

I get this is best for everybody and there's double the music and twice the happiness, but seriously kids - words matter.
This entire situation wouldn't be Team Brencer and Team Rywalk and the very optimistic Team allfour if they'd just been sweet in their 'we really tried, but it's not working, but don't worry, we'll still be writing. We'll be back and we'll see you on the road.'

We would have been briefly saddened and then moved on.
But now we're on the offensive and grieving because signs or not - we were blindsided by the worst paragraph I think I've ever read.
Clearly someone didn't point out just how important things like those are.

Between the stupid tweets and just...honestly, be mindful of your audience, no matter what you're writing. To whom it may concern, first off - is not a good opener. Way to distance yourself from the get-go, then to talk about yourself in third person and generally try to sound as pretentious and removed as you can then throwing in a demand like, hey, you didn't just walk out on us, "we're excited and you should be too." Yeah no. Fuck you.

I don't even know. But I know for a long moment I was in suspension, then came Brencer's response and oh hey, *there's* the band I know and love. Okay. They only strengthened their case by reaching out to us via twitter, complete with pictures & a song. However removed they are, they at least play the part of caring well enough I believe it.

What do we get from jon and ryan?
a beatles ~~ripoff~~ i mean quote from Jon [shocker]
and ryan talking about himself.

................ it's not hard to see why people are angry. The people who keep going, "No, really. I'm team all four. Don't chose. Stop ripping the comm apart," I admire your optimism, I do.

But until Ryan and Jon can show me they can write music that, hey, makes sense and doesn't borrow 90% of its lyrics and /or musical tastes from anything....without drugs...I'll change my flag.

it's a Pandora's Box, really. I'm not worried about Brendon and Spencer. They're professional when they need to be, they're happy, they're energetic, they *care*. They've also got a label backing, a national tour with Blink & Fob and a new cd coming out. They're set.

Ryan & Jon... where are you even starting? You've got a guitar and a bass, neither of you could front the band well enough to any of your previous fans' standards, both your voices are soft ....

and I just. It kills me. Ryan is so so used to writing for someone else's voice. He hides in his corner and lets Brendon shine. He doesn't like being in the spotlight. He's so entirely too awkward for that role. I just don't know if he realizes what he's done. I know I sure as hell would not want to be his vocalist in his new band. Subconsciously or not, he's looking to replace Brendon and I think he's going to be shocked when he realizes nobody can.

Brendon's got a set of pipes rarely seen. He can play nearly everything Ross asked him too... to expect someone else to be good enough to go along with his new project?

I don't see it working.

I'm still shocked at how much this has effected me. I remember being devastated by Mikey leaving MCR, for this to be a double whammy like it is? Stunned.

PS. If you listen to That Green Gentleman or Folkin' around, they've taken on a whole new meaning.

Hmm

Mon, 18 May 2009 08:39:32 GMT

So I went on a deleting spree. I think I'm just going to keep those two fics here.
I should write more, but I don't know.
It's hard to focus myself.

Should have finished my thumbnails/mag layouts for tomorrow.
Get to find out if my loans go through tomorrow.
Hopefully I'll still be in school.

College feels slightly overrated right now anyway.
Keep trying to tell myself halfway there, but jesus, i gotta do it all over again?

So I've been rather active commenting lately

Mon, 18 May 2009 08:05:50 GMT

So I guess i should start posting shit i've written.

This was rejected by satd, but I had it beta'd twice and they both failed, so I just gave up. apparently it wasn't meant to be posted, but I still like it. It just came out of a bad night, sort of a Ryan character study? Maybe? I don't know. He just went sort of crazy on me.

Title: And When It all Goes to Hell Will You Be Able To Tell Me Sorry With a Straight Face. [S/A]
Author: awakelunafraid
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Pete, Ryan/Beckett, Ryan/Brendon
POV: 2nd Ryan
Summary: a Snapshot of Ryan’s unraveling.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Panic at the Disco. This is not true. Just made for my own purposes. Not Real. Etc Etc. Please don’t sue me.
Author Notes: Warnings for: drug and alcohol use, brief mentions of abuse and prostitution, character deaths, vague sex, and swearing.

Beta’d by Lauren & Rose (no lj :( ) Title borrowed from Fob. Clearly Fobt has brainwashing abilities, lol.

“Ryan?”

Your eyes blink once, twice, as you take in the ceiling you've never seen before that somehow has landed itself above you. The voice sounds again and you rip your eyes away from the cracked ceiling and take in the man whose looking a little amused at you. It’s only then you realize you're on your back on a kitchen table in a kitchen you don't recognize, with a man who knows you but you don't know him. It'd almost be troubling if it wasn't so damn familiar.

“Sorry.” you mutter as you sit up, nursing your head as you bite back a yawn and wait for coherency to come back to you.

The man is laughing and chattering about something and you squint, trying to remember if you've met him before. The curve of his spine under his T-shirt isn't familiar, so you're pretty sure you haven't fucked him before, but as usual, you don't really recall the memories of the night before.

He turns back, catching your far-off glance and stops speaking abruptly and just hands you the cup of coffee he just poured.

“You look like you need it more.” he said simply and you raise an eyebrow at that but take it with a small smile and a nod.

Another person comes into the kitchen, breaking the moment and this time you smile because you recognize them.

“Jon.” You greet quietly, he smiles at you and kisses your head before moving around the other boy and pouring his own coffee.

“Hmm love you.” he mumbled and your gaze is drawn back to the mystery boy, were they together? Your rack your brain, trying to remember if Jon had mentioned a boyfriend, and you keep coming up with Spencer, and he is not Spencer.

“I'm not Spencer,” the boy said, twisting away and you blink. Hadn't you just thought that?

Jon’s laughing and wrapping an arm around his shoulders and kissing his hair.

“I know that, but I still love you, dork. You make the best coffee ever.”

You shift, finally pushing yourself off the table, vaguely wondering where the coffee in your cup had gone and seeing as how you're not asleep on your feet, you realize you probably drank it. Jon’s pulled back from the boy and is looking at you, concern flickering somewhere in the depths of his eyes. You quickly look away, walking the distance to the sink and placing your cup there.

“Um. Thanks.” you say awkwardly, “I'm going to go.”

Jon’s walking towards you and you know this, know what he’s going to say and you don't want to hear it. You keep out of his reach just shaking your head a little.

“Gotta go.” you repeat and turn, walking out of the apartment.

You're shocked to find you're still in your apartment building.

Vaguely you remember a phone call from Jon about a new friend and a welcome-to-the-city party. You went because you wanted to forget what day it was.

You walk up a few flights of stairs, ignoring the stains on the walls and the screams from the apartments you pass. This place is a shithole, but it’s the only real home you've ever had. You keep walking until you reach the roof and frown slightly at the bright light that assaults your eyes.

It feels all wrong to stand up here and let the morning sun beat down on you, you're too used to being up here under the blanket of darkness and stars for friends.

But there’s footsteps and you turn and smile.

“Ry.”

“Becks.”

He walks until he’s next to you and you both pull yourself onto the lip of the ledge and let your feet dangle over the edge. You don't know how long the two of you sit there, silent and staring down at the occasional car working its way down the street until he breaks, crumpling into tears. You turn and let him bury his face in your chest and you manage to raise an arm and curl it around him. You go back to staring at the cars.

“He’s….really gone,” breaks through the block you've put on around the words William’s babbling into your shirt. Your heart stirs, and it surprises you. It’s gone so cold, so still…you were pretty sure it had died too.

“Yeah.” You say, your eyes don't leave the cars.

“Ryan. When are you…”

That’s your cue to leave.

He’s not going to break you. You wish everybody would give it up. You're not going to fall apart on top of the building he'd thrown himself from. He wasn't worth your tears.

“Ryan. Don't. Stay. Please.”

You unhook yourself from his grasp and as you step away from the edge you realize that you're all little ticking time bombs. Pete had been destined to burn out early, Beckett’s almost there and you, well you're not very sure if what you're doing is called living anyway. It’s only a matter of time before everyone you know parties too hard or pisses off the wrong dealer.

The thought comes as some sort of comfort though. You're all just shooting stars.

Your feet pound down the stairs as you lift a cigarette up to your mouth, pausing when the same doe-eyed boy is suddenly standing in front of you. You raise an eyebrow and he beams at you.

“Ryan!”

He has a bag of trash in his hand and your door is just to his left. You finish leaning down, lighting the cigarette, barely feeling the burn the metal left in your skin.

“Hey. I forgot something in my apartment.” you lie quietly, stepping around him and pushing the key in the lock and ignoring the words he’s bubbling over at you as you step in and shut the door behind you. The lock makes a satisfying click and you push yourself off the door and walk through the living room, barely seeing the paints and canvases and clothing strewn through it.

The apartment still smells like him. It didn't matter how many different colognes, or bottles of Febreeze you sprayed, it was like his essence had soaked into the apartment itself.

You don't cry because it wasn't love.

You were 16 when your pimp had brought him in. He was almost 24 and his eyes cried out for you even as he came in your mouth. His hands though…his hands left a card under your pillow case. One that said Get out of jail free and had a number and address on it.

You went.

It didn't take you long to figure out that he had grand illusions of being your savior and you weren't looking for that. You were two train wrecks that happened to smack right into each other. But he didn't hit you and didn't whore you out so you figured you could do worse.

He claimed the drugs helped him see. He had visions. Broken words and shattered images strewn on canvases, but enough people seemed to care to pay rent and you were happy enough to be left to your guitar and your words.

It’s a slippery world that he pulled you into.

Sex was a language you knew and you found it meshed well with getting what you wanted. Worked on Pete, on dealers, on strangers, on yourself.

Pete wasn't happy though. He was always open, telling you about his problems, his fears, the love that left him, the pills he was supposed to take, the nightmares that plagued his dreams and you stayed.

Even now you didn't know why you stayed.

You went with him to his openings, you let him display you on his arm, you held him after he woke up screaming, you made sure he ate, you got a job to pay for his paint.

You see why everyone thinks you loved him.

You still wonder why you didn't.

There’s still a baggie on the counter from some time earlier this week and you peer at its contents and decide its good enough and use what’s left. You aren't the type to use to feel numb. You're so goddamn tired of feeling numb, you just want to feel anything at all.

You go into the bathroom, turning on the water and letting your clothes hit the floor as you look through the words on the mirror to peer at your reflection.

You've looked worse.

Your eyes move back and you scowl at what’s written as you turn way and step in the water.

Fly with me, Ry. Let‘s be free.

Free like the drugs made him, free like the parties, like he thought water and electricity were.

Sometimes you really hated feeling like the adult.

The water goes too cold to stand and you shut it off, crawling into the bed, and you don't care it’s only two, you're going to bed.

-------------------------------
Weeks pass and nothing changes. You go to work, you get fucked up and repeat. There’s always a party somewhere. The sad looks fade away and no one mentions Pete anymore. William disappeared for awhile and you thought he’d died too until suddenly there was a familiar lanky body leaning against a wall at someone‘s house.

His eyes find yours and you walk over to him knowing enough about etiquette to know you’re supposed to recognize the things closest to friends you have.

His arms close around you and you look up at him, startled by the warmth you feel and you press a little closer because you’re always so cold. He whispers about missing you and that turns into mouth on mouth and suddenly you’re on your back as he whispers things about Chicago and New York and plans for Europe.

You just pull him closer and make sure you moan his name when you come.

His lips press words of miss and worry into your skin as you both cool off and you just close your eyes and try to figure out if you missed having the sound of something breathing next to you or not.

You pass out there and he’s gone when you wake up.

You figure you deserved that so you get up, shower and get redressed, only to find him sitting on the bed. You blink twice and he announces he’s taking you to breakfast, because there was no food in the house they were currently in.

For some reason you decide to go.

He keeps talking about second chances and living and how he’s been clean and you change your mind.

Maybe Will would outlive everyone. Be one of the smart ones.

His hand clasps over yours as his eyes bore into yours and the feeling of deja vu strikes you hard as you thank him for breakfast and get to your feet.

You’re still not looking to be saved.

You go find a different crowd to crash and try to forget about Will.

It works until he’s there one day, staring down at you as you try to wake up.

“You think I’m gonna give up that easy?”

You think his voice had probably had more anger in it, but now it was just sad.

“Ryan. You can’t live here.” he said quietly.

You look at him and get to your feet, walking past him, lighting up a cigarette as you fill up the coffeepot.

“His stuff is… Ryan you’re supposed to get rid of it.”

You shrug. It wasn’t bothering anyone and you couldn’t be bothered to pack it all up.

His arms wrapped around you waist again and you could feel his tears soaking into your shoulder and again felt a weird sense of déjà vu.

“What do you want?” you ask finally. “Why are you here?”

“You can’t go on like this.”

You think that’s a little rich of him.

“We can’t all go find ourselves on cross country roadtrips, Bill.”

“Ryan. Please. You’re one of my oldest friends, let me take care of you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Come stay with me for awhile.”

“This is my home.” you frown.

He sighs and you see you’ve really frustrated him. “I get this was the first place that wasn’t the street or shelter or pimp owned, but Ryan c’mon. There’s other places out there. My place is just as good.”

You doubt it.

“Its not permanent.” He adds and you step away from his arms.

“I think it’s time you go.” You say softly.

“Why do you do this?”

You turn and step out of his arms, pulling bread out of the pantry, ignoring him.

“You shove everyone so far away, even the people that love you!”

You smirk and set the bread and knife down, turning and finally facing William.

“What do I know about love?” you ask quietly, “I know how to abandon, how to use, how to be a coward. Love? Nobody’s loved me Will.”

“Pete - “

You shake your head. “All of you have this image … dream of what we were. He never got over Patrick. He never loved anybody ever again.”

You were just two people existing together until one of you stopped.

“Me, Jon…”

“Pete died at least two years ago and this is the first time you’ve been here. Jon hasn’t been at all.” you counter quietly.

“We care about you Ryan.”

You nod and decide you’re too sober for this conversation and walk towards the door, barely remembering to grab your keys and your shoes on your way out.
-

------------------------------

You pause just after the door clicks this time and you find yourself at a loss. You haven't been writing, or playing, you haven't cleaned, and yet standing by the door, you don't know what to do with yourself. You jump when the door starts moving behind you, takes a minute to sink in someone’s knocking. You move away from the door, decide that maybe you're ready to be free after all.

Life wasn't meant to be like this, you think to Pete, not supposed to be cold and empty and broken, just searching for the means to survive. Not meant to be spent passed out on beds somewhere you don’t recognize.

For the first time, you feel a little angry.

After all, Pete had more promises up his sleeve than a get out of a jail card. He had illusions of home and love and family, those elusive things you've never really got a handle on.

You see them on the street, the happy couples oblivious to the world at large except for the two of them, the little kids running towards their parents who welcome them with kisses and hugs, the elderly who still look so in love even as one is pushing the other in a wheel chair.

It makes you sick.

Your hands aren't shaking as you walk around the apartment. You're trying to find the best way to do it. You've got no real desire to fly. You saw Pete’s mangled corpse and know he didn't get very far. You don't really want to imagine your own face looking like that.

There’s another knock on your door and you growl lowly, frustrated that the simple escape isn't being very simple.

“Go the fuck away, Will.” you snap.

“Not Will.” comes the voice and you pause.

Do you know that voice?

“Ryan it’s just me. Your uh, neighbor. I was wondering if you had sugar I could borrow. Which I know it totally lame and cliché and I'm sorry, but I did really run out and the 7-11 is closed and I want brownies.”

You blink, but as the man’s voice picks up again, happily chattering to the piece of wood barring him from you, you realize he’s not in a hurry to leave. That he probably won't leave so you trudge over to the door, opening it not sparing a thought to how you might look to someone like him and just turning and walking into your kitchen.

“You paint?” comes the excited question as soon as the boy walks in and you shake your head.

“Pete did.” you answer absently, opening cupboards and frowning. Sugar. That is something you should have, right?

“Pete?” the boy echoed, walking into the kitchen. “You have a uh boy… roommate?”

“Did. Don't anymore.” comes your short reply and you throw a puzzled glance back at him. “Where would sugar be?”

His eyebrow raises as he looks at you, but this is one question you really don't know the answer too and the seriousness that you're taking it at clues you in that you're probably really fucked up right now.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and his voice is like liquid honey, dripping into all the holes that bitter life has left in you and you shrink back.

“I don't think I have any.” you say and whether you're talking about sugar or something else is kind of up in the air.

“It’s right there on the counter, Ryan.” The boy says and you blink, watching him as he points to the smaller container next to the bigger one marked ‘flour’.

“Oh. Well take what you need.”

He nods and scoops up the sugar and it reminds you of white dust and huh, there’s escape flaunting you in the face.

“I'll bring some over for you when they're ready.” the boy says as he walks out to the door and you're nodding, not really listening and eager for the silence and the locked door again. It never occurs to you that this is flirting and that someone who’s relatively unbroken could be interested in you.

You decide to take a shower because you're really gross from earlier and showers just always seem like good ideas. You lose time in the hot water because it’s a now-familiar knock at the door that has you reaching for a towel and wandering puzzled back down to the hallway.

“You again.” you mumble and he beams up at you, a pan in his hands.

“I brought them!” he announced, dancing past you and dropping the pan on the table, with a wince. “They're still hot.” he explains

You blink and look at the empty hallway and the boy with the chocolate eyes and chocolate brownies is still standing in your kitchen.

“Um.” You say intelligently as you shut the door and spin around.

His eyes are laughing and you blink again.

“When someone asks for sugar, it’s code for flirting. It’s kind of cute that you show up in a towel.”

You smile wryly but the joke’s above your head.

“I didn't think I'd see you again,” You say truthfully.

He nods and rummages for a knife and you blink.

“Why did you bring me brownies?”

His grin is lightening quick as he looks up at you.

“Because I wanted in your pants.” he chirped.

At last, something out of his mouth you understand. You smirk, moving closer and take the knife out of his hands.

“Well you should have saved yourself an hour and just asked.” you purr.

You're hardwired for this. It doesn't take you long to get him upstairs and undressed. Sex is an escape in and of itself and you're content on your back, but he’s stopping and you're confused.

“I… I've never..”

Wait. What?

“You showed up, in my kitchen, looking for sex and you've never?” you repeat and watch him flush.

“I was really more looking for an invitation back. And eventually a date, or two, or four before we ended up in any kind if situation remotely like this.”

And huh. Normalcy showed up right on your door step and you didn't even blink in recognition.

“Shit.” you roll off and pull your shirt back on, watching as he fixes his own clothing and looks so awkward.

“I just…” he starts and you take pity on him, sitting lost and confused on the bed that’s seen that expression on your own face too many times to count.

“How about we go downstairs, you cut us a piece of brownie and we'll call it our meeting and we'll plan for our first date over some coffee?”

You did the right thing because all the darkness disappears from his eyes and he’s actually radiant enough to pierce through the haze that clings to this room like a blanket. He talks all the way down the stairs, and while you're making the coffee and even when his mouth is full. You're pretty sure you've never met someone like him before and you just smile and nod.

He calls you on it eventually, asking why you’re so quiet, not volunteering any sort of information and you shrug.

“We're all just shooting stars,” you repeat and smile at him, “Just flashing by quickly before burning out and fading away.”

His eyes are calculating as he looks at you and quite seriously declares you the weirdest person he’s ever met and you, you're kind of intrigued.

You wonder if the boy’s interested in you at all or if it’s an elaborate scheme Jon cooked up. Either way, you're not in a huge hurry to escape anymore and maybe you'll just spend a little time and figure out what his motives are.

He wakes you at nearly 2PM just after you settled in for bed and you blink blearily at his already-dressed and shiny form on the other side of the door and his face falls.

“You're not ready. Did I wake you? Are you feeling sick?”

The questions come faster and he lets himself in, closing the door behind him and you just blink at him. He pushes you back to the bed and you feel him curl up around you, but your eyes close and you fall asleep and have the first restful sleep you've had in your entire life.

You go out on the first date, and a second, and the third date has you on your back again and you're whimpering as you're trying to coax him deeper and he’s just staring down at you with something you've never seen before in his eyes.

“I've seen you. You know.” he whispers. “I'm not really a new neighbor.”

You twist your hips and he growls, snapping his and you think he’s not really a virgin either and wonder what else has been a lie.

Figures that even this pure thing was tainted and just an illusion. You would have liked to believe you had a taste of this once.

He twists and it’s all over and he’s pulling out and you're left with questions of motives all over again.

“So why?” you ask.

“I want to save you.” he admits, with a small shrug. “Jon’s told me the stories and you were so sweet on my table and I just … you need an escape, something different. I'm different.”

“Why lie?”

“I didn't.” he countered and you laugh.

“You're not a virgin. And you're not a new neighbor.”

“I never claimed to be -” his words falter at your gaze and he tries again, “Well I never had with you okay? That wasn't a lie.”

“Lie of omission.” you counter but it’s starting to not matter.

You feel the pull again and you're ready to just get it over with. The sunshine and rainbows in your bed isn't enough to take away the years of darkness you've known.

“Come with me.” the boy says and you shake your head.

“It’s time for us to go.” you mutter sadly. You get to your feet and dressed and wait for him to do the same. You walk him to his door, let him kiss you and then continue up to the roof.

“I don't want to be free.” You mumble to the sky. “I just don't want to be stuck in this empty sham of a life.”

It occurs to you, as you're falling past his window, that you never knew his name.